


Good Work

by jenatwork



Category: Levius (Anime)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Frottage, M/M, consensual drunk sex, implied mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22038793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenatwork/pseuds/jenatwork
Summary: Bill is used to working alone, going home alone, being alone. Until Zack reminds him that he's not.Or: Bill is drunk, and Zack takes him home, and Feelings happen.
Relationships: Zack Cromwell/Bill Weinberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Good Work

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished reading the manga. I think I actually prefer the anime - the story is neater, but mostly I love the background art. The locations remind me so much of the town where I grew up, and for that reason I headcanon that the setting is very similar to Yorkshire and characters have Yorkshire-ish accents. Hence, in this fic, some moments of Yorkshire dialect.
> 
> This is set some years before the start of the anime, but after the end of the war.
> 
> Translator's note: "an'all" is short for "and all/as well". Sometimes Yorkshire can sound rude. Ask us how we pronounce "couldn't".

Bill is drunk. Pleasantly so, but still enough that his words don’t come easily, and his hands move more than they should when he speaks. He’s telling Zack about how a prosthetic can be fine-tuned to give more precise movements than flesh-and-bone, when the words float away and he just

gives up

mid-sentence.

Talking is tiring. So he closes his eyes, just to rest for a moment. Feels himself list to the left, which ought to be a worry, except that he bumps head and shoulders against Zack.

And Zack doesn’t seem to mind. He just lets out a laugh that Bill can feel as it rumbles through Zack’s chest and jostles his arm, and the breath tickles Bill’s ear. “Stop,” he tries to say, and it makes Zack laugh even harder, shaking Bill so much that Zack has to put an arm around him to keep him from falling over entirely.

“Looks like it’s past someone’s bed-time.” Zack’s voice is a low rumble, smooth like brandy and just as intoxicating. It keeps Bill from insisting he’s too old for bed-times and makes him think instead of warm blankets on bare skin.

He stays where he is as Zack drains the last of his pint. Standing is hard work; he has to first open his eyes again, and the lamps are too bright, and then Zack has to pull him to his feet and wait until he regains his balance. Then jackets have to be dealt with and pub tables navigated so it’s slow-going to get to the door.

Night-time air comes as a shock to the system. It’s early spring but late enough in the evening that there’s a sharp chill that hadn’t been there when they’d started drinking. It sobers him up just enough to make a straight line along the street, but Zack is there to keep him steady. They walk shoulder-to-shoulder, and as they leave the main road and turn on to Blythe Street and pass the post box, Bill realises that Zack is heading the wrong way for his house. But Zack is the one leading, and it’s the right way to Bill’s room and he can’t find the words to protest when Zack slings an arm around his shoulder to steer him along the pavement.

Eventually, he’s sober enough to manage the steps up to his flat unaided. Not enough, yet, to question why Zack is still walking with him. Inside, it’s not much warmer than out, although the two flights’ climb goes some way to warming his muscles. The landlord allows only two hours of heat to the building in the evenings, and that will cease come May, and Bill thinks longingly of the warmth of his bed.

Unlocking the door is a fumble. Taking off his coat, likewise, and his hands snag in his sleeves, until Zack comes to his rescue, extracting him with unexpected gentleness. He tries to protest, but Zack just laughs and turns his coat right-way-out again to hang it in the hall alongside his own. Zack will always rush to help, and Bill will never get him to stop.

The flat, thankfully, is tidy, the only hint of mess being his work bench, where he’d been tinkering with something that afternoon. Of course that’s where Zack gravitates, and Bill has to dash over to remove the empty tea cups and plate of sandwich crumbs - if Zack notices, he doesn’t comment.

“Something new?” Zack picks up the brace left on the table. He knows Bill’s work, knows how to handle it with care. Bill takes the brace from him, slips it on to his own hand.

“Works on - on injuries. Paralysis. Nerve damage.” He could explain it so much better sober, could write entire essays on the benefits for injured veterans and people with disabilities, if only people funded that type of work as well as they funded military research or even bloody  _ sports _ . He tries to fasten and attach the necessary parts, but his fingers are sluggish, unresponsive. Zack’s hand on his would startle him if his thoughts could run quickly enough; instead, he notices only the cool of Zack’s skin on his.

Zack cups his hand to examine the delicate components - the tubes that take on the work of tendons and nerves, the rods and rings that might someday be sewn into a glove by someone with a finer hand than Bill. He runs a fingertip over the scraps of well-worn leather around Bill’s wrist. Over the base of his thumb and the silvered scars and solder-burns until Bill feels the limb grow as soft as the leather.

“Look at that.” Close as he stands, Zack’s breath is warm on Bill’s cheek. “Such good work you do.”

“Still needs fine-tuning,” he mumbles. “Can’t quite get it precise enough yet.”

“I don’t mean that kind of good.” Zack has to reach around Bill’s chest with his other arm to hold the brace in both hands, and as he turns it this way and that, Bill can only think about the warmth of his chest, the push of each steady inhale against his back. “Someone commission this? Or did you come up with it on your own?”

“No commission. ‘S just mine.”

“See? Good work you’re doing.”

Something about that makes Bill’s throat tighten unexpectedly. He didn’t start work on the brace thinking of a buyer, or even acclaim. The idea had been in the back of his mind since the war’s end, seeing the injured troops returning home. Zack’s own nephew had been the catalyst, with his injured arm and his stoic refusal to complain about it.

“Good job I saved you when I did, eh? Else you might not be here to make this.”

It’s not at all what he expects to hear, but at the same time it’s so  _ Zack _ , that same brash swagger as the first time they met. It makes him laugh, and the sound is thick and wet with something he didn’t know he felt until just now. He ducks his head, unable to leave the tight circle of Zack’s arms and unwilling even if he could. That someone should see his effort and praise  _ him _ , not just the work - that Zack would be that someone - makes him long for something he didn’t know he missed.

He fidgets with the brace a moment, before slipping it off his arm and back to the work-bench. Zack won’t let him move away, and he accepts Zack’s hold on him and all that it means right now. Something ought to be said, he’s sure, some question or plea or admission. All he can find is the reassurance of the chest pressed to his back and the arms around his middle, the hands flat on his stomach. He covers them with his own and lets himself be held, gives in to the age-old need to be seen and the wearying ache from years of coming back to this flat alone, of working at this bench alone.

“Still tired?” Zack’s words are soft and probing. He shakes his head. Although Zack can’t see him, his face feels far too exposed; he turns his head, not sure where to hide, and ends up turning almost completely to bury his face in Zack’s shoulder. Zack allows the movement with a simple loosening of his arms, lets Bill resettle himself until he’s comfortable. It’s a childish move, but it doesn’t matter if it keeps Zack from seeing the flush in his cheeks.

With Bill’s head bowed , Zack can press his face to the crown of Bill’s hair, and he does so, one hand moving to cup the back of Bill’s neck. There’s a delicacy to it that doesn’t seem to fit, not for Zack, and not for Bill, but tonight he’s fragile and worn threadbare and needs this unexpected softness

“What brought this on?” There’s no real concern in Zack’s voice, just vague amusement, in a way that’s almost fond. Bill can only laugh at himself and shrug. “Not that I mind, you know.”

“‘M just...off,” he mumbles into Zack’s shoulder.

“Oh? Should we put you to bed?”

“Not  _ that _ tired.” It only makes Zack laugh more, makes him squeeze Bill a little tighter. He moves one big hand up Bill’s arm, to his shoulder, to where his thumb can graze over Bill’s cheek, where the skin is flushed and warm.

“How awake are you?”

It’s hard to raise his head. He really isn’t that sleepy anymore, but Zack is looking at him, and Bill isn’t sure how much he wants Zack to see just yet. He lifts his head just enough that, when Zack tilts his down, their foreheads touch. 

“Enough.”

From there, it’s just a succession of movements, like learning to control a prosthetic for the first time. An impulse to turn the head, a slight shift, a twitch, a lift, until he can get his lips to meet Zack’s, and from there it’s second-nature to press, to pull, to snatch breaths when he can.

It’s soft and it’s cautious and it’s everything Bill’s been pretending he didn’t need: the steadiness of Zack’s arms, the warmth of his mouth, all of it feeding some hunger he’s been trying to ignore for years. Without thought, his fingers have tightened in the fabric of Zack’s shirt, and he has to let go before he tears something, has to move his hands to Zack’s hair, and bless the man for allowing it to grow so ridiculously since it gives Bill a whole new sensory experience to focus on, as Zack continues to kiss him senseless.

He’s desperate for breath when they part, but at least Zack seems in the same state, smiling as he draws short, ragged breaths.

“Wondered when you’d catch on,” he tells Bill as they bump foreheads again. There’s a snappy answer about being a quick learner all lined up in his mind, but his mouth won’t cooperate. He surges back to kiss Zack again, and Zack lets him so maybe it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t sound like himself right now. Sounding like himself never resulted in getting to kiss Zack, so perhaps a change is needed. Zack’s mouth is warm, and he tastes beer and salt and can’t get enough. Fumbling fingers pluck at Zack’s shirt, and Bill pushes all his weight forward to make Zack hold him tighter, keeping both of them upright. Zack might be slightly shorter than him, but as Bill tips his head back it makes Zack bow over him, surrounding him all the more and the sensation is delicious, Zack all around him and they haven’t even reached the bed yet. He can’t even remember which direction his bed is in, in his own damn house, and he’d laugh but he’s too busy so he has to trust Zack to figure it out.

Zack seems of a mood to take care of him, and kiss-walks him slowly across the room until his calves bump the bed-frame. He’s not ready to drop there yet, and shifts his attention to the buttons on Zack’s shirt. Buttons, at least, he can manage, as long as he stops kissing to focus on them. But Zack takes his hands, stilling them on the second button.

“How drunk are you?” he asks, not unkind.

“Enough to make me brave,” Bill assures him, and Zack takes his rediscovered articulation as proof that he wants this, letting him get back to work. Lets Bill apply to his mouth to his neck, his shoulder, the whorls of hair on his chest. Makes satisfied little sounds as Bill kisses each patch of skin he exposes with the slow removal of shirt and undershirt. Draws Bill back up again to make short work of his clothing and returns the favour with his mouth on Bill’s chest. He finishes up kneeling at Bill’s feet, looking up at him with that familiar smirk.

“Britches an’all?” he asks, and Bill can only nod as Zack slips buttons through holes until he can slip Bill’s trousers over his hips, trapping him in place when they pool at his ankles. Then Zack’s mouth is at his hipbone, the top of his thigh, and everywhere except where he needs it to be because Zack is an utter bastard who knows Bill will allow him anything. All he can do is find Zack’s hair with grasping fingers and groan his anguish until Zack finally,  _ finally _ finds the base of his cock with sucking lips and his hands firm on Bill’s backside. Zack runs his tongue the length of Bill’s cock and Bill, in his mind, calls him every name under the sun but can’t make any sound more articulate than a needy whine as Zack continues to tease.

Eventually, too frustrated to care about kindness, he yanks on Zack’s hair until Zack stands again, and he pushes himself forward to kiss Zack, to make him do something useful with that damn mouth instead of teasing. Zack’s hands stay right where they are, kneading and pulling and Bill doesn’t know why he’s so insistent because Bill isn’t trying to move away but it feels good and it keeps him pressed to Zack with little effort on his part. It lets him tip his head back to take more of Zack’s mouth, lets him loop his arms around Zack’s neck and lets him rely entirely on Zack to hold him up, and by the time Zack lowers him to the bed, he’s been kissed so thoroughly he can only let it happen.

There’s a moment of cold shock as Zack pulls back, first to slip Bill’s glasses from his face and set them on the nightstand, then to peel Bill’s trousers and socks from off his ankles, and Bill finds his arms reaching out, grabbing, for Zack to come back, and the noise he makes when Zack finally comes to rest atop him is childish, surely, but it doesn’t matter when Zack is all warm weight and greedy mouth. He settles his legs astride one of Bill’s, wool trousers a delicious scratch against Bill’s bare skin that he pushes against in a way that makes Zack groan and push back even harder, and Bill thinks it could be the end of him already. He runs a hand over Zack’s bare chest, and although Zack has softened, thickened, since he stopped fighting, the bulk of muscle is still there and Bill indulges in the opportunity to explore with his fingertips as Zack continues to ravish his mouth.

Soon it seems like it’s not enough for Zack, although Bill would happily see out the rest of the night like this. He pulls back just enough to reach a hand between them and begins fumbling with his own trousers, evidently less dexterous by this point. Bill thinks about helping but knows his own hands are useless, good for nothing except mapping the contours of Zack’s chest, and he can’t even manage that with Zack propped up on one elbow to make room to remove his trousers. He has no choice but to wait until Zack has shoved his britches down just enough to free his own erection, before he settles back atop Bill and sets to work plundering his mouth once more. His hips push against Bill’s and finally,  _ finally _ Bill feels the hard heat of Zack’s cock beside his own as Zack ruts against him.

Zack moves with a precision that is maddeningly slow; long careful push of hips against hips as he kisses the sensitive skin of Bill’s throat. He draws pathetic whines and guttural moans from Bill with the wetness of his tongue and the slide of his cock, and Bill pinches at Zack’s arms and pushes up with his own hips to feel more, more, everything Zack is willing to give and it’s still not enough. 

He gets a grasping hand between them for Zack’s shaft as it slides against his hip, and Zack rolls off him to make room for his own hand down there. They shift on the narrow bed, maneuvering around hands and cocks to keep as much contact as they can until they’re kissing again, and Bill thinks he might be making words between each press of lips, telling Zack how good he feels, how much he wants this, how he needs Zack to keep touching him, but it could just be the run of thoughts through his mind for how quick and disjointed the words are. If he is indeed spouting nonsense, Zack doesn’t let on, busy as he is with running his lips and tongue over Bill’s collarbone. The skin there is astonishingly sensitive, and some part of Bill’s mind that insists on keeping its medical focus contemplates replicating the sensation with tech the next time he gets back to his workbench. It’s drowned out, seconds later, by Zack’s hot mouth on his nipple, and he silences the thought with a howl that must surely wake the neighbours.

Zack’s hand refuses to increase its steady pace, and even as his mouth threatens to drive Bill to the brink of insanity, that same slow stroke on his painful erection is nowhere near enough. Bill finds himself pushing at Zack’s shoulder, shifting on the bed to angle himself over Zack, taking both their cocks in one fumbling hand. He picks up the pace, and Zack seems happy to lay back and let him, matching him with jerking hips and a hand on Bill’s backside. He kisses Zack, enjoying the opportunity to take control at last, and even when his arm begins to tense from his frantic movements and he ends up slumped over Zack, his hips stutter and rut with frantic need. Zack rolls them again, settling his weight over Bill, hips pistoning to grind their shafts together, and Bill tightens his arms around Zack, holding them tight together.

He pulls and pulls like he could pull Zack inside him, or maybe it’s the other way around, like he could put himself in Zack and wear his confidence like a new skin and face the world like a fighter. He wants to feel that warm weight on every inch of himself, to know that someone wants every part of him, even needy and delicate like this in the darkness. His mouth moves uselessly against Zack’s, his mind lost to everything but the heat and pressure in his groin, to the feel of Zack flush against him, skin on skin, hip to hip as they move on Bill’s narrow bed, and there might be words, one or both of them whispering nonsense as he pushes and Zack pushes back until it’s almost enough, almost, and there,  _ there _ , jerking through his release as Zack quickens his pace to catch up, to join him and spill himself on to Bill’s heated skin until there is only stillness and rapid breaths and hot skin all around him.

Somehow he rolls off the bed, stumbles to the washroom to clean up and piss and splash cool water on to his face. He trades places with Zack, who has finally removed his trousers, and they brush hands as they pass through the narrow doorway. Bill hovers by his own bedside, half convinced Zack is going to redress and leave, even though he wouldn’t have strippped out of the rest of his clothes if that was his intention. Sure enough, moments later the lavatory flushes and Zack returns, passing him to slump gracelessly on to the mattress. Bill follows without a word, accepting Zack’s outstretched arm and taking a moment to arrange himself around Zack in a bed that was never meant for two grown men.

He finds his arm tightening unconsciously around Zack’s middle, over skin that’s still warm and sweat-slick, and Zack pats his arm, encouraging him to let up a little.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he mumbles, voice low and drowsy. “If you’re inclined to let me stay, I mean.”

Bill fumbles for words, but his head is foggy again.

“Stay,” he tells Zack, as much as he can manage for now.

Zack’s laugh rumbles through his chest and makes the mattress rock, and he presses his lips to the crown of Bill’s hair. It’s silly, but it’s fond, and Bill hasn’t had nearly enough of it yet.

“Stay,” he says again, and Zack draws the blankets up over them. 

In the morning, there will be work to do. The sunlight will worm its way through the gap in the curtains, and the building will rattle as the other tenants wake and go about their business, unaware as they always are of Bill in his room, at his workbench. The sheets will need washing and the room will need airing and countless other chores will demand his attention. But for now, Zack is in his bed, with his fingers stroking soft over Bill’s shoulder, and Bill will let someone else take care of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't care that this fandom is basically me and two other people. I adore Zack/Bill and this probably won't be the last thing I write about them. I also now have 'Levius/est' to read, which will no doubt provide more inspiration.


End file.
